


Empire of the Clouds

by mitternachtseule



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: AU: Airships, Alternate Universe - Historical, First Kiss, First Time, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Otacon's canonical shitty family background, Period-Typical Homophobia, R101
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitternachtseule/pseuds/mitternachtseule
Summary: Fall 1930: After reconstruction, the British airship R101 prepares for her maiden voyage. David Pliskin, WW1 airship veteran, arrives to assume his post as First Officer. Part of the crew is a young engineer from Germany, Hal Emmerich. The ship still has some technical issues, but the British Secretary of State for Air wants to fly to India nonetheless. Also, there are rumors of industry espionage and sabotage...
Relationships: Otacon/Solid Snake
Comments: 17
Kudos: 44





	1. I: To Ride a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the song "Emprire of the Clouds" by Iron Maiden. 18 minutes well spend listening if you are into epic guitar solos like me ;-)

Thick, blue smoke from five cigars filled the room, hiding the gathered men’s faces from David. He coughed and cleared his throat; not like he despised smoke, he enjoyed a good cigar himself every now and then. But they had been in this room for hours now, the windows closed due to the cold November winds outside. And no end in sight. He reached for the glass of water in front of him, taking a long swig.

“Well then, Mr. Pliskin.” Sir Everett gave him a slow, testing look. “If you don’t agree with the press, why don’t you tell us your side of the story?” He folded his hands under his chin, grey eyes still trained on David’s face. He had introduced himself earlier as ‘Sir Walter Everett, MI5’. 

David took a slow breath. “What part of it?”

“Everything. The whole series of events as how you experienced them.”

“Alright.”

“The day you arrived at Cardington – September 26, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” David nodded.

“That day, they filled her with gas, didn’t they?”

“Right.”

The airship hall is the largest one David has ever seen – and he has seen quite a few in his days. In fact, it is the largest building in the entire United Kingdom, echoing with the worker’s voices and the sounds of their tools like a cathedral. He even feels the same kind of pressure in his chest that he had felt a few days ago upon visiting St. Paul’s Cathedral in London.

The facility is state-of-the-art, build for a state-of-the-art ship, the one that is hanging under the roof in strong steel cables. The view is breathtaking, a shudder runs down David’s spine. He knows the numbers, has read the specifications: 775 feet in length, diameter of the hull 131 feet maximum, a lifting gas capacity of 5.509.088 cubic feet; five huge Beardmore Diesel engines, accelerating her to a maximum speed of 71 mph. The largest vessel ever build, at least concerning the volume. But reading those numbers on the paper is something entirely different than seeing her right here before him. Despite the size, His Majesty’s Airship R101 looks… elegant. A sleek cylinder, covered in shiny silver. Canvas with a special coating, David knows, reflecting the sunlight to prevent it from heating up the gasbags inside. The cover is stretched so taut he can recognize the framework underneath it. One of the most beautiful things he has ever seen.

The crewmen working at the ship, crawling under her canvas hull, look like ants: tiny against her, diligently building their flying nest. David looks around, and he can’t help it, he feels a little lost as he stands in the giant gateway, duffel bag over the shoulder, free hand in the pocket of his jeans.

“Excuse me?”, he addresses a passing worker. “Who’s in charge here?”

“Got lost, cowboy?” The worker gives him an amused look. “The Captain is up there.” He points at a balcony under the roof of the hall, steel grid stairs winding up there.

“Thanks.”

The atmosphere in the room upstairs is so tense David can hear it crackle with electricity. Two men – one tall and broad-shouldered, wearing the insignia of a Captain on his uniform, the other short and stocky, dressed in a fine tweed suit – are right in the middle of what seems to be a staring contest.

“Yes, sir, I know this will throw us back, thanks, I know our schedule.” The Captain, short grey hair and neatly trimmed beard, has rolled up the sleeves of his uniform shirt; a dark vein pulsates visibly on his forehead. David knows him. As the Captain turns around and notices him, he recognizes him, too. “Pliskin! About damn time!”

Years of habit make David raise his hand to a salute. It gets caught halfway in the Captain’s grip. _Right. Not the Air Force._

He shakes David’s hand, his grip firm and warm. “Good to see you, Pliskin.”

“Captain Hinchcliffe. Good to see you, too. Did I – come amiss?”

“Not at all. In fact, I could use your help – with talking some sense into our dear Secretary of the State here.”

The man in the fine suit has been frowning at them constantly; nonetheless, he extends a hand towards David.

“Sir, this is Lieutenant David Pliskin, decorated World War airship veteran, my First Officer. David, the British Secretary of State for Air, Lord Thomson.”

The state secretary’s hand is soft and sweaty in David’s grip. “My Lord.” He shakes it and nods at him.

“You served on airships during the war?”, the Lord asks.

“Yes, sir. Mostly on Blimps, guarding the coast, hunting submarines.”

“Ah, I see. You were one of the brave men telling our airplane pilots where to strike, then. I was commanding one of those flying squadrons back then.”

“Well, that’s…” David searches for a polite answer. “Must’ve been exciting, sir.”

“Indeed.” A smile tugs at the ends of Lord Thomson’s broad mustache. “You see, I’m not one of those desk guys our good Captain here seems to think I am. I know   
flying, I’ve been there.”

“Sure you were”, the Captain grumbles. “And still you refuse to accept my decision.”

“Which would be?”, David frowns.

“I guess you’ve seen we’re filling her with gas?”

“Yes, I noticed.”

“Plans were to start for a test flight this afternoon. But it’s simply too windy.”

“We have to do those tests”, Lord Thomson chimes in. “She’s scheduled for her first tour to India – in six days! An extremely important tour.”

“Yes, important to you personally, I know.” The Captain crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“As a matter of fact, yes. However, I’ve seen ships fly in worse conditions.”

“Blimps, maybe. But none of her size.” He turns at one of the orderlies standing next to the door. “You, bring me Dr. Emmerich up here. Maybe he can convince you, he knows his numbers.”

“Emmerich?”, the minister frowns as the orderly leaves. “Who is that?”

“My Lead Engineer, a math guy. And apparently the only person around with at least a scrap of reason.”

The orderly returns, followed by a thin, nervous-looking young man. A _math guy_ , if David has ever seen one. Long, awkward legs in too-big pants, strands of brown hair falling over his eyes; but those eyes, grey and vivid behind round glasses, are wide awake and… curious.

“Dr. Emmerich, this is Lord Thomson, state secretary of air. Would you be so kind as to tell the Lord what you told me this morning?”

Dr. Emmerich shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Pleased to meet you, my Lord. As you might know, R101 is the biggest vessel ever build, at least considering the inner volume. At a length of –“

Lord Thomson waves his hand. “I know the numbers. In short, tell me why we should, in your opinion, reschedule the test flight and put the planned maiden voyage to India into jeopardy. Don’t you think she can handle a little wind?”

“Well, sir”, he reaches for his glasses again, “I think she can handle a little wind – but the grounds men can’t handle her in said wind. We have 300 men at the ready to pull her out of the shed and moor her to the mast, but they wouldn’t be able to hold her back in a sudden gust.”

“Then get more men! Double the numbers!”

Sir Melville, solicitor general, cleared his throat. “What was your impression of him, Mr. Pliskin?”

David blinked. “Dr. Emmerich?”

“Lord Thomson.”

“Oh. Of course. Well…” He considered the question for a minute. “He struck me as… impatient. Used to his orders being carried out without questioning. And not willing to accept the fact that something as trivial as the weather could jeopardize his plans.”

Sir Melville nodded. “I see.” A brief smile crossed his face. “That's about the way I remember him, too. Go on.”

The wind howls through the airship shed as Lord Thomson leaves, face deep red in anger. Captain Hinchcliffe sighs loudly and shakes his head. “Politicians. All the same. Played Air Force Commander for a while and thinks he knows it all now. Well, I’ve got to tell the ground crew we won’t need them today.”

He seems to remember something. “Pliskin, where are you going to stay? Shortstown?”

“No. Head office told me they’re doing some renovations there, my apartment isn’t finished yet. They booked me a room at the…” He fishes in his jeans pockets and produces a note. “At the Old Post Inn.”

“That’s downtown.” The Captain nods. “Emmerich, are you busy right now?”

“No, sir. Since the test flight is cancelled, I’m free this afternoon.”

“Would you mind driving Pliskin downtown? You can take the Hell On Wheels.”

A broad smile appears on the engineer’s face. “Absolutely, sir!”

The ‘Hell On Wheels’ proves to be a brand new Rolls Royce, shining black, with seats of rich, dark red leather. The engineer climbs behind the wheel and sighs with pleasure as he sinks into the seat. As David sits down next to him, he knows why.

“Why did the Captain call it the Hell On Wheels?”, he asks as the car eases into the driveway.

The engineer laughs. “He’s scared of cars.”

David rises an eyebrow.

“Really. He doesn’t mind flying those big-ass airships, but on the ground… He says there are too many things a car could crash with.” He chuckles softly and focuses on the road. “You see those red brick buildings?”, he asks upon passing the driveway to a big complex of said buildings.

“Yeah, hard to miss.”

“That’s Shortstown. The Short brothers build it for the workers of their airship facility during the war.”

David nods. “I know. I’ve been here once during the war, picking up a new ship for the coast guard.”

“I see. Uh… What I wanted to ask – you served in the RNAS during the war, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you’re British?”

“Yeah, from Liverpool. Why?”

“I was just curious. You talk and dress kind of like an American.”

David smiles briefly. “I’ve spent the past ten years in the States. Got friends there.”

“I see.”

“What about you, Dr. Emmerich?”

“Hal, please.”

“Hal. I can’t really place your accent.”

“You can’t? People always tell me it’s still quite obvious. I’m from Germany.”

“You are? I always thought Germans sound like…”

“Like they got a brick instead of a tongue? Well, I had a British nanny. She taught me.”

“Uh-huh.” David falls silent and watches the passing landscape. He likes the young engineer, his kind and open face and his smile; but after the long journey he just comes from, his eyes become heavy. And the engineer seems to be preoccupied himself: He keeps staring into the rear mirrors every other minute.

“Someone there behind us?”, David asks after the seventh time.

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s just… just a habit.”

“Mhm.”

A few minutes later, he parks the car in front of an old, red stone and timber frame building. An antique sign identifies it as the Old Post Inn.

“Here we are”, Hal says and shuts the engine down.

Inside, the Inn is dark, the air filled with smoke and the smell of frying grease. David’s stomach reminds him with a low rumble that his last meal has been quite a while ago. But the taproom is empty, nobody at the bar, no waiter in sight.

“Hello! Anybody here?”, he calls. “Hello?”

The door behind the bar, apparently leading into the kitchen, swings open and a round-shaped, elderly woman appears, lips in a tight line. Wiping her hands at her kitchen apron, she looks at them from half-lidded eyes. “Yes? How can I help you?”

“Pliskin. Got a room reservation for today”, David answers in the same clipped tone.

The woman nods curtly. “Maaarge!”, she yells into the kitchen.

A thin, nervous-looking girl appears. “Yes, Mrs. Lawson?”

“The guest for room three.” She points her chin at David. “Show him his place, and don’t forget about the house rules again.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The guest rooms are upstairs, where the ceiling is low and the wooden floor boards creak with every step. Dust particles dance in a beam of sunlight, shining into the tiny window at the end of the hallway. Room three is like the entire house: tiny – David has seen bigger broom closets – dark and dusty. As he drops his duffel bag onto the narrow bed, it gives an almost painful creak; dust whirls up into the air and makes him sneeze. Nervous-looking Marge throws a few glances around.

“The bathroom is across the hallway from your room. You’ve got it to yourself, as long as no other guests arrive.” She speaks fast and barely audible.

“Will other guests arrive anytime soon?”, David asks with a half-grin.

“That’s not very likely.” She looks to the floor. “Anyway – you’ll find the house rules in the top drawer of your nightstand. Mrs. Lawson insists that no… private visitors… of the… uh, in your case… that no female visitors are allowed, and that sleeping hours are from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m.”

Hal chuckles in the background. “What is this place – a guest house or a nursing home?”

“I’m sorry if that causes you any inconvenience.” Marge’s face turns red.

“Don’t worry, it’s alright, Miss. I don’t know any… females who’d pay me a private visit anyways.”

“Oh, well, alright.” The red on her cheeks turns even brighter. “If you need anything, just let me know, will you?”

“Sure. Thank you, Miss.”

Marge leaves so fast she almost stumbles over her own feet.

“Poor thing”, Hal shakes his head. “I bet the old hag downstairs beats her up.”

“Not unlikely.”

“Which makes this place even more awful. Apparently, Head Office doesn’t check on the places where they accommodate their people beforehand. If I were you, I’d file a complaint.”

David grins. “Thanks for your concern, but it’s alright. I’ve stayed in places way worse. And it’s just for a few days, isn’t it? The Captain told me accommodations on the ship are pretty luxurious.”

“Yeah, they are, and not only the ones for the paying passengers. Crew quarters are pretty damn nice, too. A pity we can’t head out today.”

“On the one hand, yes”, David nods. “On the other hand – I’ve been travelling the entire week just to get here. I don’t mind a free afternoon at all, got to catch up on some sleep.”

Hal gets the message. “Oh, of course. You’ve got Head Office’s phone number, in case you need anything?”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Alright. Sleep well, then!”


	2. II: His Majestie's Airship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tour through the ship with Dr. Hal Emmerich

The airship gently sways in the steel chords, still attached to the roof of the construction shed.

“So, you were part of constructing this?”, David asks, casually spread in a wicker chair, scanning the salon.

“Yes, I was.” Hal nods and adjusts his glasses with one finger. “I mean, not exactly this. The interior was someone else’s department.”

“The same guys who designed the Titanic’s interior, apparently.”

“N-no.” Hal chuckles as he belatedly notices David is joking. “Although – I guess, they must have the same taste. And since we’re somehow aiming for the same type of passenger…”

“The rich, important and impatient kind.”

“Yeah.” Hal nods briefly. “And just like the Titanic back in her days, this is the biggest, most modern and most luxurious ship ever build. Let’s… let’s just hope the parallels end there.”

“Never heard of flying icebergs.” David rises from his comfy seat and stretches himself.

“Ready to see the next part?”

“Ready.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

“These babies caused us quite a headache.” Hal touches the casing of the aft engine, a huge Beardmore Diesel that takes up almost the entire engine car; hanging in strong steel beams underneath the ship's belly, it is dimly lit and smelling from machine oil. David likes it better than the polished, sparkling passenger salon.

“Captain said they didn’t bring as much power as they were supposed to do?”

Hal adjusts his glasses. “Well, they bring the power alright, but they’re too heavy. The whole ship is, as a matter of fact. That’s why we had to cut her in half this summer and add a whole segment, gasbags and all.”

“How could that happen? Got your numbers wrong?”

“Yeah, well…” David watches Hal blushing softly, a steep line appearing on his forehead. He almost feels sorry for teasing the engineer. “You see, we had big plans with this baby. You knew we were in kind of a competition with another ship?”

“R100.” David nods. “Made a nice trip to Canada last year, right?”

“Right. She was build by Vickers-Armstrong, a private company. As you know, we’re government-run. Vickers has already delivered a damn fine ship, so we have to deliver, too…” He climbs up the ladder and David follows him into the corridor of the lower deck.

“See these windows?”, Hal asks.

“Sure, what about them?”

“They’re not made of glass. Well, they were originally. We exchanged it with some kind of plastic, to save weight.”

“That bad?”

“That bad. When we took her for the first test flights, we realized that the actual lifting capacity was several kilotons too low. No way of flying to India with her…”

“Where the hot tropical climate would lower the capacity of the lifting gas even further.”

“Exactly. We implemented so many new technologies – excellent technologies, no question – that we… somehow went off track, you know.”

“I see.” David scratches the back of his neck. “You think you fixed her?”

Sir Melville placed his chin on his folded hands. “What did he say?”

“He honestly wasn’t sure.” David hesitated. “I think, all in all he trusted his superiors with the construction team. On the other hand, he was young, inexperienced, and he knew that. Competent, no doubt, but inexperienced.”

“So, where did you learn how to build airships?”

David and Hal are sitting on a narrow runway on the top of R101’s hull, legs dangling through the railing, watching the crew down on the ground. An hour ago, upon finishing their tour through the ship, they have run straight into a spontaneous party: the board cook, Perkins, is celebrating his birthday. In order to do that properly, he has brought an entire barrel of ale, along with sandwiches and a huge cake. The Captain had introduced David to his new crew mates, and for a while, David has mingled with them, shaken hands, exchanged small talk. The senior officers are all experienced airship veterans just like himself; he even knows Disley, the radio operator, from a common deployment with the RNAS back in the days. David likes him, they have been chatting for a while.

Eventually, the noise level in the shed raises as some of the guys get increasingly drunk. David doesn’t feel like getting drunk; he hardly ever does. Beer in one hand, sandwich in the other, he walks up the stairs and runways until he ends up on the balcony in front of the construction office. Munching his sandwich, he stands there for a while, watching his new crew below. Not long, and footsteps on the steel grid stairs announce company.

“A little crowded down there, isn’t it?” Hal grins at him.

“Yeah. A little.”

A spark appears in the younger man’s eyes. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“Not at all. Why?”

“Would you like to see something nice?”

“Why not?”

The engineer leads him into the ship, to the upper deck, and up a ladder in the back of the crew quarters, straight into the belly of the ship. It is dark up here, the giant gasbags softly swaying like sails in an imperceptible breeze. Hal produces a flashlight.  
“When we’re in the air, engines running, these lamps will be on.” He points at the grid-covered light bulbs, mounted to the railing every five meters or so. “But it still won’t be that bright.” He leads him up more narrow runways and endlessly long ladders, until they eventually reach the top. Through a flap in the outer cover, they climb outside, landing on a maintenance runway that goes along the ship’s entire length.

“Here we are. Do you like it?”

“I do. Nice hideout.”

“Right?”

“After the war, I studied engineering in Berlin. I was hired right after that from the Zeppelin manufacturing in Ludwigshafen. It was a good time there, at least for the most part. Nonetheless, when the Cardington guys made me an offer to work with them last year, I was… not unpleased about the opportunity to leave the country and have a fresh start over here.” The engineer’s voice is calm and matter-of-fact as usually, the precise way of speaking of someone who has studied a foreign language carefully but still doesn’t feel entirely at home in it. But David notices something underneath; something he can’t quite get a grip on, as if Hal was holding something back, carefully testing the waters with him.

“Well, I guess the Cardington people are glad they could steal you away from Zeppelin. The air force engineers have been dying to get insights into Zeppelin knowledge for years.”

“They have.” Hal nods and takes a sip from his ale. “Ugh. I’m glad I’m not that much of a beer drinker. When you’re used to the German stuff, the British ale tastes – sorry, no offense meant – like piss. Warm piss.”

“No offense taken.” David chuckles. “I’m not much of a beer drinker, either. But I know how you feel. When you’re used to Scotch, the American Bourbon tastes pretty much like piss, too.”

Hal grins. “I feel you, man. Care to tell me what brought you to the States?”

“Sure. It’s not that different from what brought you here. The U.S. Air Force needed someone with practical air ship experience, to enhance their own program. An old friend – more like a fatherly mentor – of mine is an American, he asked me to come over. It was a good time, for the most part.”

“What happened?”, Hal asks as David stops and doesn’t continue.

“You heard of the big crash in Kansas this summer?” His voice has dropped, eyes turned into narrow lines.

“Yes, I did. 25 dead, right?”

“Yeah. He was one of them.”

“David, I’m sorry to hear that. What was… what was his name?”

“Miller. Master Chief McDonnell Miller.”

For a minute, they sit together in silence, quietly drinking their beer. Eventually, Hal looks up. “I… I know this doesn’t make things better, and it’s already a few years in the past, but… I’ve lost my father, too.”

“How?”

“Suicide.”

“Fuck. Sorry to hear that. That the reason why you were glad to leave your country?”

A sudden blush covers the engineer’s cheeks and neck. “Partially, yes. Not the only one, though.”

“Oi! Emmerich! Pliskin!” From down below Perkins, the cook, yells up at them. “Move your arses down here, or we’ll eat the cake without you!”

David flashes Hal a look. “Want to eat cake?”

“Not necessarily. The level of drunkness down there is too high for my taste.” He squints through half-lidded eyes, David can see the gears in his head turning. Eventually, he says: “If you’d like to continue our conversation, I know another hideout.”

“God, this is nice! How much does this cost for one trip?”

“I have no idea”, Hal smirks and drops into the wicker chair next to David. Given the conditions on other airships, the First Class quarters of R101 are like a small palace. Sure, the walls are just balsa wood, covered in painted canvas, but the paint work is so artfully, they look like white, wooden panels.

“Imagine sitting here while flying right into the setting sun…”

“That’s grossly cheesy”, David snorts, not without amusement.

“That last ship you were on – how were the accommodations there?”

“Compared to this – spartan. Compared to your everyday military accommodations – pretty nice.”

“A big ship?”

“Pretty big, yeah. A training ship, never seen any action. Master Miller – he ran the whole show. I was his Second In Command, already an airship veteran.”

“Wasn’t that quite boring, after all the action you must have seen during the war?”

David pauses for a while. “You know… I think it’s like this Bible verse: Everything in life has its time. War has its time, and peace has its time.”

Hal grins. “I didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“Well, I’m not. But I can appreciate wisdom, no matter the origins.”

“Fair enough. After all, I guess it’s a good thing I was too young to fight in the war.”

“Trust me, it is. If I had to choose – playing war with the young ones is definitely less painful than the real thing. Miller and I, I think we trained them well. At least I hope so. When the next war comes…”

“You think there will be a next war?”

David snorts. “Of course. There is always a next war.”

“You don’t think the world learned from its mistakes?”

“The world never learns. Never, Hal. Look around yourself. Europe is a powder keg, just like it was back in 1915. A single spark is enough, and the whole thing will blow up again. All we can do is hope for the best, prepare for the worst. That’s what we taught our boys: We hope you will never have to carry out in real life what we teach you here. But if you have to, we want to provide you with the best possible chances to survive.”

Hal nods slowly, his gaze wanders into the distance. “Sounds like you two were good teachers.”

“Miller was”, David chuckles. “I was too impatient for the most part. I… God, I miss him.” He trails off, his eyes searching the painted wall for something to cling to, wondering about himself. He feels comfortable in the presence of this young engineer, comfortable enough to let his guards down, if only by a few inches. Something that happens as rarely as white Christmas in California.

“How’d it happen?”, Hal asks softly.

“Fire. The end of a long-distance flight. They were already in viewing range of the base. The exact reasons are still unclear, most likely one of the engines malfunctioned and caught fire. I guess you know that most modern American ships are filled with Helium.”

“I know.”

“Well, not ours. The hydrogen was ignited instantly. Some of the guys got out since the ship was already pretty low, but not Miller. He and everybody else in the stern burned alive.”

“David, that’s… I’m so sorry for you!”

“It’s… it’s alright, thanks.” He lets out a slow breath. “Your time to take the pants down. Why did you really want to leave Germany?”

Hal gives a joyless laugh. “If I’d tell you that, I had to kill you. Wouldn’t that be a waste of a good guy?”

“You think I’m a good guy?”

“A pretty good guy, at least telling from what I’ve seen so far.”

David considers that for a second. “You see”, he resumes slowly, “Honestly, you’ve seen more of me in those past few days than others get to see in years. No idea why.”

“Well, I can have that effect on people, you know”, Hal chuckles softly. The way he readjusts his glasses looks already deeply familiar to David, and that simple gesture touches a spot inside him he knows is there but usually kept locked up tightly. Listening to the sound this spot resonates with, he thinks, leads into dangerous territory. Even deadly territory, at least in his past with the military. He has witnessed once what happens to people with this special spot inside when they dare to show it, to act on the voices coming from this place. Those people – they experienced nothing but pain, hatred, scorn. Disdained by their comrades, stripped off their ranks, put into jail, even hanged back in the days. ‘Unnaturals’, ‘Sodomites’, those are some of the words, and not even the harshest ones.

He for himself never had the feeling of being unnatural in any way, no. But he always made sure to keep his feelings to himself; and since he’d never met anyone he could have loved more than being a soldier, it wasn’t really that hard. He watches the small smile on the young engineer’s lips, and he notices the warmth that smile radiates seeping right into his stomach; he takes it all in, willing to enjoy the feeling while it lasts, certain that it will be a passing sensation without any consequences, just like the times before when he felt like this.

“Are you thinking of something nice?”, Hal asks.

“Hm?” Only then he realizes that he has started smiling, too. “Yeah, just… A nice memory.”

“Would you like to share it with me?”

He shakes his head briefly, still smiling. “Another time, maybe. It’s… I think it’s getting late. You know a way to sneak out of here without running into the party downstairs?”


	3. III: You need protection!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David goes to Shortstown to pick Hal up for work, but Hal already has visitors

“Next stop: Shortstown!”, the clerk on the morning bus announces. David rings the bell and hops off as they come to a halt. Giving the clerk a friendly nod, he sets off for the complex of dark red brick buildings, framed by a park. Following the description Hal gave him the evening before, he has no trouble finding the apartment building the engineer lives in. The front door is open. He enters a broad, light-flooded hallway, goes up a wooden staircase, walks down the first floor corridor. Apartment 104 is at the far left end.

There are loud noises at the end of the corridor, banging, a short, high-pitched scream. David starts running. The door of number 104 is ajar, the noises come from inside. He presses himself up to the wall beneath the door and takes a peek.

The goons are two, big, muscular guys. One has Hal’s neck in his grip, single-handed, pressing the engineer against the wall, while the other one waves around a baseball bat.

“What’s this about?”, Hal mewls in the iron grip. “I know nothing, I have nothing, I…”

“Save your breath, Emmerich”, the goon holding him growls. “You know what this is about. Nothing personal. Cipher just doesn’t like that big lady out there you helped building. You know why.”

Hal wriggles in the grip. His feet barely touch the ground; the goon is not even sweating at holding him in place. _“Wisst ihr was”_ , the engineer hisses, _“Cipher kann mich mal am Arsch lecken!”_

The big guys both grin. “If your daddy could hear you now…”, says Baseball Bat, dropping the wood and producing a knife instead. “Tell him Ocelot sends his regards when you meet him. Should be any minute now.”

David has seen enough. He sneaks inside, planning on securing the knife first. Baseball Bat has stepped up at Hal and drags the tip of the knife across his Adam’s apple, viciously grinning at the fear in Hal’s wide eyes.

The engineer’s expression shifts as he recognizes David sneaking up on the goons.

“What, Emmerich? Already seeing the light at the end of the tunnel?”, Iron Grip smirks. And stops smirking as David appears like a ghost in the back of Baseball Bat, tweaking the hand holding the knife. The goon howls and drops it; as he swings around, his other hand, clenched into a fist, already aims at David’s chin. David ducks and rams his own fist into the guy’s abdomen, landing a hit to his liver. Baseball Bat is not done yet, he kicks at David’s groin, misses by a few inches as David backs off, only to place another hit in his side. And then, the effect of the liver hit kicks in: The guy gasps, his eyes roll into his skull, and he drops to the floor.

_“Dav-e…”_ Hal gives a strangled noise as Iron Grip starts pressing into his throat for real. David turns around and delivers a heavy blow right into the back of the goon’s head, but he keeps up his grip, Hal’s face is already going violet. An upwards kick between the legs finally makes the goon loosen his grip and turning around towards David. He drops Hal to the floor, he falls hard, barely conscious.

For his size, Iron Grip is fast. A half-spin, and his blow into David’s jaw sends him flying across the room. Seeing stars for a second, David rolls to the side, cursing through clenched teeth. He has to finish this fight NOW, otherwise that guy could well rip his head right off his shoulders. Jumping back to his feet, he finds Iron Grip already charging at him. He ducks under the next blow and manages to place one, two, hits, one into the groin, the other one high into the solar plexus. The big guy chokes and gasps, but manages to stay on his feet. Like a wrestler, he slings his arms around David’s waist and presses, presses all the air out of his lungs. Seeing stars again, he can’t help being thrown to the ground.

Iron Grip follows him down, kneeling in his lap and sending a barrage of thrusts towards David’s head. He manages to block them, three, four, just barely, five lands in his jaw. He tastes copper. And rage. Bringing his leg up behind the guy’s shoulder, he rolls himself around. The maneuver works, he finds himself sitting next to his opponent, his arm in a tight lock between David’s legs. He forces the big guy all the way down and slams his head into the floor boards, twice, hard.

As he looks up, the face of a woman appears in the doorway, pale and wide-eyed. “Go, call the police! GO!”, David yells at her. She runs off. He checks on the big guy on the floor. He is unconscious, his pulse weak, but steady.

As he rushes over to Hal, the engineer’s eyes are half-lidded, he still gasps for air, but the color of his face looks healthier than half a minute before. “Hal, you hear me?”

“’m good”, he rasps, and David gives a long sigh.

It is almost noon when the last police officer has finally left the apartment. The goons were brought to hospital, heavily guarded; after treatment, the detective said, they would be brought in for a thorough questioning. David and Hal both told the police they knew nothing about the men; in David’s case, that was the truth, he just happened to be witness of his co-worker being attacked in his own apartment and defending him.

“I said they came here to rob me”, Hal says, head in his hands, propped up on the kitchen table. David pours hot water into the tea pot and sets it down on the table, along with two cups. He sits down next to the engineer and massages the dark bruise on his jaw. “Also, I didn’t know who they are.”

“But you know why they were really here.”

Hal sighs. “Yeah.”

“And?” David raises an eyebrow.

“And what?”

“Oh, come on. Those were goons, yes, but not the dumbest kind. They sure knew how to put on a fight. You need good money to pay that kind of guys.”

“If you say so…” Hal pours tea into the cups, carefully avoiding David’s gaze.

“And also, Cipher – as in Cipher Aviation, Inc.?”

“You… you know them?” He looks up.

“Who doesn’t? It’s not like they’re some kind of secret society.”

“No, they’re not. But…” Another long sigh. David decides to give him the time, takes a few sips from his tea. Eventually, Hal gives another sigh, even deeper than before. “My father – he used to work with them. Until he… you know, died.”

David nods. “Not a small fish, I guess.”

“No. One of their top engineers. Close friend to their big boss, Cipher himself.”

David leans back in his seat, hands crossed behind his head. “An American veteran, as far as I recall.”

“ _Ja_. He was one of the world’s first fighter pilots, later commander of a whole squadron, went up through the ranks. After the war, he changed into private business. Gathered all the bright guys around himself, including my father, who had been constructing fighter planes for the German military. They have been working on huge planes for the last years, both for civilian and military use. But… you see, they are having a hard time finding investors since airships are already there. It would cost millions of dollars to construct the type of plane they have in mind…”

“While we are already here with a working solution for the exact same purpose. And if our lady here becomes the success we think she could be…”

“Then Cipher is done.”

They stay silent for a minute.

“And that thing about an ocelot?”

Hal scowls. “Revolver Ocelot, the meanest son-of-a-bitch under the sun. Kind of a relict from the Wild West, at least he loves his revolvers. And Cipher. Both in a very inappropriate way, rumor has it.” He shakes his head. “I met him once. He does all the dirty work for Cipher. My father despised him, that’s why I was curious about the guy – but… Well, as much as I hated it, for once I had to agree with my father.”

“Your father – he must have been pretty pissed when his son decided to study airships instead of planes.”

“You’d better believe he was”, he laughs dryly. “And honestly, that’s why I did it. And I never regretted it. Airships are… fascinating. Elegant. Quiet. Planes may be faster – and in the long run cheaper, yeah, I know – but still, they’re noisy, stinky…”

David nods. “I know what you mean. I love ships, too. Even if Cipher is right and planes are the future, they’ll never have the… well, character of a ship.”

“I hear you, man.”

“However, since Cipher is involved – they sure won’t leave it at this one attempt. They’ll come back for you.”

“Oh, that wasn’t their first attempt. We had so many strange incidents during the construction, false numbers, whole shipments of material gone missing, important people suddenly quitting their jobs… It wasn’t their first, and it sure won’t be the last.”

“Thought so.” David nods. “And that’s why you need protection. Would you mind if I’d stay with you? At least until we go for India?”

Hal starts beaming. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course. I’d stay on the couch, won’t need much space.”

“And you’re not just looking for an excuse to get away from the old hag?”

David laughs. “As much as I despise her mottled pub and the rancid stuff she serves as food – no, I’m not looking for an excuse.” He turns serious again. “I really think you need protection. And since the ship needs you…”

“Well then – welcome, make yourself at home!”


	4. IV: She Never flew at Full Speed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R101 goes on a test flight.

“Pull! Pull! Pull!”

Three hundred voices fall into Captain Hinchcliffe’s rhythm as the men take up the heavy ropes – thick as a grown man’s arm – and start pulling. The gates of the airship shed are wide open. Inside, the chords that anchor R101 to the roof have been removed. Slowly, like a curious cat testing the weather outside, the bow peaks out of the shed. Once set into motion, the body follows swiftly.

David wipes the sweat from his brows with his forearm. Every available man is out on the field and pulling the giant airship towards the anchor mast that rises in the center of the field; even Hal Emmerich, the math guy, has taken position on a rope next to David.

It’s by far not the first airship he is pulling, but by far the heaviest one. Today’s weather is calm, a beautiful early October day with merely soft breezes; but even those, the ground crew feels wrenching on the ropes. Not a chance to hold her back in the gusts blowing a few days ago.

“Pull! Pull! Pull!”

At the side of the field, a huge crowd has gathered, mostly children and elderly people, watching the spectacle and cheering the pulling men. David even spots a few cameras; no surprise, sure enough. Half the world is curious about this brand-new giant of the skies. As the stern finally leaves the shed, revealing the ship in her entire grandness, the crowd breaks into thundering applause.

The anchor cable is already connected to the mast, pulled up to the top by a strong winch. As the ship approaches the mast – which is in fact more like a tower, standing on strong steel beams, with an elevator running inside up towards a comfortable waiting lounge sixty meters above the ground – the winch powers up again, supporting the pulling men on the ground.

As the ship reaches her final anchoring position, the crowd's applause intensifies once again. Cameras flash, and David rubs his back where sweat is running down despite the cool wind. He looks up and can’t help a smile. She really is a beauty; a giant, but still sleek and elegant, silver skin glistening in the autumn sun.

“Haven’t we done a good job?” He turns around as the familiar voice startles him out of his musings.

“Yeah, you have. You really have.” Hal’s smile is as bright as the sunlight; David feels his heart warming up.

The good weather seems to hold. David looks up from his instruments as Captain Hinchcliffe enters the map room. “Air pressure and humidity are stable, sir, same goes for wind. Steady from Northwest at eight knots.”

The Captain nods. “Alright, then. Set-off at 1630 hours. All men aboard, warm up the engines.”

“Aye, sir!” The Captain is still smiling as he leaves the room.

Lord Amulree, Secretary of the State for Air, produced a monocle out of his chest pocket and squinted at the map in front of him. His short, thick finger followed the red line drawn across it; the huge ruby in his ring caught David’s attention, reflecting the light and painting red dots on the white table linen. He reached for the water glass and emptied it. His throat was sore after talking for so long, and the cigar smoke in the room was growing thicker with every passing hour. He sighed and rubbed his eyelids.

“You set course for London, correct?”, Lord Amulree asked upon finishing his inspection of the map.

“As you can see here, yes.”

“Alright.” The Lord sat his monocle aside. “The report says you had troubles with the engines?”

“Not at first. The overland flight towards London was pretty much a joy ride. The weather did hold up, it was a pleasant autumn evening, and we had time to watch the landscape underneath us. Over London, we went down a bit so that the people in the streets could see the ship up close; this part of the flight was more of an advertisement for the latest achievement of British engineering than a test flight. Although we couldn’t see much of the people below us, I think most of the crew members enjoyed the attention R101 was attracting.”

Lord Amulree nodded. “I remember that evening. Me and my family, we actually watched it flying over the city from our house. Quite a view, indeed.” He squinted at the map again. “After overflying London, you set course for the North Sea?”

David lent back in his chair, closing his eyes for a second. “Yes. That’s where the trouble begun.”

The fog that has been lying all over the landscape, produced by countless factory stacks, dissipates as R101 reaches the channel coast. London is a thick, dark patch in the northern horizon. So far, the ship is running smoothly and quiet, the engines emanating a steady, thrumming rhythm. David watches the coast coming closer through the bridge window, darkness gathering outside as the sun is sinking into the sea.

“Anything to report?” Quiet as always, the Captain has entered the bridge.

“Nothing, sir. All quiet.”

“Good. Time to speed her up, then. Full speed ahead!”

“Aye, sir!”

The machine telegraph rings as David relays the Captain’s orders. A few seconds later, the engine’s thrumming intensifies. A powerful vibration runs through the entire ship and reverberates through his feet; outside, the passing landscape picks up speed. 

Captain Hinchcliffe hums in tune with the engines in contentment. David stands next to him and watches the grey line of the Channel coming closer.

“Almost too nice an evening for a test flight”, the Captain mutters. “Testing under ideal conditions doesn’t tell too much about a ship.”

David nods. “I know. A little more wind won’t hurt.”

“More wind?” Flight Lieutenant Irwin, the pilot, looks up from his controls. “Hard enough to keep her steady as it is now. Our lady here behaves like a drunk blue whale, Pliskin!”

“In that case, you’re doing a pretty fine job. Hardly anything noticeable.”

“Well, we didn’t pick him for that job for nothing.” The Captain gives his pilot a brief pat on the shoulder. “This is the largest vessel ever build, of course she’s not behaving like a blimp.”

“And I’m not going to complain about my job, sir. But…”

“What’s it?”

“I’m not sure… I’ve been piloting big ships before. I’m used to handling them. But her… I think she feels a little more unstable than she’s supposed to do. Slower reactions to the rudder, rolling, things like that.”

“Noted.” The Captain nods. “If we had the time, I’d say we bring her back into the shed and let the guys work on the fine tuning, but…”

“Thomson?”

“Exactly. Given we experience no critical malfunctions tonight, we’ll set off for India in three days.”

“In three days?” David frowns. “How’s that supposed to work out? We don’t have a certificate of airworthiness yet, the process for that will take weeks!”

“Thomson has pulled a few strings, as always. We’ll be granted a preliminary certificate, as long as we stay in the air tonight. Everything else comes after our return from India.”

“Great. I don’t like things like this being rushed.”

The Captain squints into the setting sun outside. “I hear you, Pliskin. Thomson has been breathing down our necks the whole reconstr-“

A rumble runs through the ship, it slows down distinctively. One of the lights close to the flight controls switches from green to red.

“What’s wrong, Irwin?”, Captain Hinchcliffe asks.

“We just lost engine five!”

As David approaches the aft engineering room, he can already hear someone muttering loud curses – in German. “ _Zum Kuckuck! Verfluchte Scheissel!_ ”

“Hal? Are you alright?”

The engineer’s head appears from behind a work station, oil smeared across his forehead. Something inside David wants to lean in and wipe the stain away; he notices it with some kind of amusement, and the moment passes.

Hal stretches his sore back and mutters another silent curse. “Engine five just died from overheating, Leach called in. The damn cooling system broke down.”

“Can he fix it?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Depends on which part exactly is broken. One way or another, it will take time, he’ll have to take the whole thing apart.”

“Can I help you somehow?”

Hal grins wryly. “Not unless you can do magic. Seriously, we’ll be fine. But the Captain’s speed tests will have to wait. And that’s not even the worst of our problems.”

“Hm?”

“Whatever genius thought it would be a good idea to remove the gasbag’s rigging to save weight was an idiot. They’re rolling around like marbles.”

“Irwin complained about the ship rolling too much.”

Hal nods. “Yes, because every little roll she does in the wind is picked up and amplified by the damn balloons inside. We’re also constantly losing lifting gas, the security vents react on every little movement.”

“Damn.” David lets his shoulders drop. “I guess we’ll have to get out and carry her to India on our shoulders, then.”

Darkness envelops the ship, the velvety night sky is sprinkled with stars. Down beneath them, the waves of the North Sea reflect the moonlight. David has seen this sight a thousand times before; yet, he stops on his way from the dining room to the back of the ship and looks into the night through the broad plastic windows for a while. Despite of the ship’s dire constitution, his heart is light like it hasn’t been in quite a while, and so are his steps as he resumes his way.

At the engineering room, Hal is still hunched over blueprints and construction drawings. His uniform shirt is decorated with spots and stripes of engine oil, grease and coolant, and so is his face.

“How’s it coming?”, David asks.

“Not good, frankly.” He holds up a short rubber tube. “Leach brought this up half an hour ago. These things look like Swiss cheese. Here, smell this!”

“What’s that?” Hesitatingly, David sniffs at the content of the bucket Hal is shoving into his face. “Smells like alcohol… A lot of alcohol.”

“Exactly. Some idiot at Cardington – or worse, maybe one of the Cipher guys - filled in the wrong coolant during the reconstruction. This stuff is way too strong for these tubes here. Let’s just hope they didn’t use it in the other engines, too, or we’ll be dead in the air in a few hours!”

“Well, that would suck”, David says dryly. “But so far, the others are working fine, aren’t they?”

“Yes, for now at least.”

“However – I brought you some dinner. Thought you could use it.”

“I do!” He takes the sandwich David hands him, wrapped in a napkin. “As a matter of fact, I’m starving.”

“I don’t like this. Every problem on its own might be not that bad, but they keep summing up.”

David sits down next to Hal on the runway under the roof of the hull. Letting their legs dangle through the railing, gasbags in reach of their feet, they make themselves comfortable while Hal munches on his sandwich.

“I know what you mean. Irwin is complaining about her reactions to the controls, those gas leaks, a broken engine impeding us from doing the full speed test – the Captain would be wise to give Thomson the finger and bring her back in for a thorough makeover.”

“Yes, but we both know that won’t happen. What’s even worse, I think the makeover she has just gone through has not improved much, more like it has created even bigger problems.”

“Seems quite so.” David shifts and stretches his back. “Well, maybe we’ll be lucky and they won’t grant us the airworthiness certificate with those missing speed tests. Then Thomson can say what he will.”

Hal readjusts his glasses. “That’s not very likely. His underlies in the ministry of air are either related to him or too scared of him to act against his will in such important matters. I just… You know… I’m a little scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of an accident. If it were just about the ship, well, pity, but… We both know how dangerous airship crashes are.”

“Yeah, no shit.” David falls silent, his lips forming a narrow line.

“I… sorry, David. That was… thoughtless of me.”

“Never mind.” He shakes his head, his eyes briefly meeting Hal’s gaze. “I can understand that you’re scared. Frankly, I’m a little uncomfortable myself.”

“Thank you.”

“Huh?”

“For not making fun of me.” He speaks softly, eyes trained on the gasbags below them.

“Why would I do that?”, David frowns.

“It’s… Uh, just… just forget it. I guess I’m too used to being called _Angsthase_.”

“ _Angst_ …”

“Chicken. Scared rabbit, literally.”

“I see.” He chuckles softly. “Seriously, there is nothing wrong with being a little scared of what we’re doing here. Aviation is a dangerous business, particularly airships. There have been so many bad accidents through the years, I sometimes wonder why we are still constructing these things, as much as I love them. I guess that’s the nature of new technologies, though: we learn from our mistakes, and if we are, in general, convinced of the concept, we will stick to it.”

“Until we have either perfectioned it or found something better.”

“Exactly. So, what we are doing here is still some kind of pioneer’s work. And that is scary by nature.”

Hal nods. “I agree. Thanks for taking me serious.”

“I have every reason to do so.”


	5. V: Sir, She's Heavy, She'll Never Make This Flight!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew prepares R101 for the flight to India, but someone is missing

“Anchoring complete”, Flight Lieutenant Irwin announces.

Someone is already waiting for them, leant onto the mast’s railing. A short, stocky figure, dressed in a long coat and hat. The Captain curses. “I bet that bastard has been waiting there all night. Irwin, Pliskin, with me.”

Cold air greets them as they leave the ship over the short landing bridge. The morning is clear and sunny, yet cold; small stripes of fog still lay on the field beneath them, ghostly remains of the cold October night. A sudden gust of wind tears at R101 and carries her to the right, the landing bridge, movably hinged on the mast’s railing, follows her draft. The experienced airship men are used to that, but David knows that more than one civilian passenger has panicked on such a bridge before.

“Good morning, gentlemen”, Lord Thomson greets them cheerfully and lifts his hat.

“Morning, my Lord.”

“Oh, why the sour face, Captain? Look, gentlemen, you’ve made it into every important morning paper! First pages, even with photographs!” He holds up the Morning Post. The front page shows a huge picture of R101 over the roofs of London, under the headline ‘ _When Money Learns to Fly_ ’.

“Well, money flew last night alright”, Captain Hinchcliffe presses through his teeth. “I’m just not sure how far it’ll fly.”

Lord Thomson frowns. “What do you mean, Captain?”

The Captain turns around at his men waiting behind him on the landing bridge. “Irwin, get me Dr. Emmerich. Meet us in the smoking room. Pliskin, Lord Thomson, with me. Now.”

On board an airship filled with hydrogen, the smoking room is a small sensation. Situated on the lower deck, right behind the dining room, its walls are heavily insulated with asbestos. Comfortable wicker chairs are grouped along the windows, the walls painted white like everywhere else on board. Captain Hinchcliffe doesn’t bother with sitting down or offering a seat to the Lord.

“Lord Thomson, frankly speaking, I have great concerns about the tour to India. The ship is too heavy, it tends to roll, and we have issues with the newly developed gas valves. Also, because of a failing engine, we were unable to absolve the full speed test.”

Lord Thomson cocks a brow while slumping down into a chair. “How long until the engine will be repaired?”

“A day, maybe two”, Hal announces upon entering the smoking room.

“Good, good. The speed test can be done on route to India, I’ll make sure that this won’t affect the preliminary certificate of airworthiness.”

The Captain, lighting a cigar, turns around at Lord Thomson. “Didn’t you hear what I just told you, _my lord_?” His voice is sharp enough to cut through paper. “I don’t think she is fit to fly to India! We experienced a constant loss of lifting gas because of the security valves. And my pilot here, Flight Lieutenant Irwin, one of the best you can find – tell Lord Thomson about her behavior, like you said it to us last night.”

“With all due respect, my lord, she behaves like a drunk blue whale”, Irwin complies.

“Oh, is that so?”, Thomson half-smiles. The next second, he is dead serious again. “Then sober her up, for God’s sake. Do what you have to do, I don’t care. We will set off for India in three days. It’s all arranged.”

“This damn, arrogant… _prick_! Who does he thinks he is, God, or…”

“Great Britain’s Secretary of Air. Pretty much God.”

“Oh, give me a break!” Hal’s finger adjusts his glasses with more force than usually. Then he shoves the offensive item up into his hair and rubs his eyes; the cold wind on the mast’s platform has made them tear up. “I don’t know, I’ve got a bad feeling about all this. Even worse than last night.”

“I hear you, Hal.” David leans against the railing next to the engineer, and they both watch their shipmates leave R101, alone or in small groups, most of them with smiles on their faces. After all, they just finished a trip on board the biggest – and possibly greatest – vessel ever build. The London morning papers with their ship on the title pages have already wandered from hand to hand, the big news spread rapidly.

“Tell me, Dave, what do you think about her?”

Sir Everett leaned in, hawk-like eyes trained on David. “What was your impression? Did she really fail the test so badly?”

“I think so, yes”, David nodded. “I mean, obviously we stayed in the air all night, we were able to navigate her, and we made quite a few miles – it’s not like she was overly slow, despite being underpowered. It’s pretty much like I said before – every issue in itself might have been small, but there were too many of them. They kept summing up. And we didn’t even notice one of the major ones.”

“The hull.” Lord Amulree nodded.

“The hull, yes.”

“Tell us, please, Mr. Pliskin”, Sir Melville chimed in. “At this point, could anyone have foreseen – and thus prevented – the catastrophe ahead?”

“Honestly, Sir – I don’t know.”

“So, what are your plans for tonight?” Hal smiles at David as the elevator slowly rattles towards the ground.

“Catch up on some sleep, have a beer… Preferably not at the rat hole calling itself the Old Post Inn.”

Hal chuckles. “Was it as bad as our first impression?”

“Worse. The old hag always looked like someone pissed in her beer, and honestly, I think she does the same with the guest’s beverages. At least everything coming from her bar tasted like piss.”

“Ew. That’s awful. And the young one? I mean, she didn’t look that bad, did she?”

David shrugs. “Dunno. I think she’s alright. I’m no expert in women.” He stifles a yawn, hardly noticing the curious little look Hal gives him.

As the elevator stops and the doors slide open, Hal trips over the threshold, almost falling to the ground and dropping his briefcase. David grabs his shoulders and holds him up.

“Thanks, man.”

“You alright, Hal?”

“Yes, I’m fine, just…” He reaches for his briefcase, not realizing it had snapped open. The content lands on the pavement in front of the elevator, and the engineer curses through his teeth. “ _Verflucht noch eins_ … Looks like this really isn’t my day.”

“Maybe”, David chuckles and helps him gather up his items. Money, a comb and a notebook find their way back into the briefcase. As David picks up a small book with a back of red leather, Hal’s personal organizer, a piece of paper flutters out. He picks it up and is already about to put it back in as it catches his eye.

“Who’s this handsome guy?”

Hal snatches the photography out of his hands, his face flushing. “That’s me, obviously.”

“Obviously. I meant the guy next to you.”

“That’s… just someone I met, back in Berlin.”

“He looks nice.” Despite keeping his expression neutral, David’s heart begins to race, his fingers are tingling. _Could it be…_

“Yes. Yes, he was nice. A nice guy I met at a bar. Randomly.” His face is glowing now, fingers twitching where they hold the picture.

“So random that you kept his picture”, David grins.

“It’s… it’s nothing. Really. I, uh, I have to go. See you later, David.” He all but runs away.

Back at Shortstown, David drops onto the couch in the tiny living room. He feels tired, physically and mentally, while at the same time wide awake, nervous, almost a little scared. Hal hasn’t returned to his place yet, and David is glad about that.

When he felt that he was about to develop feelings for another man before, one of his internal arguments to get rid of those feelings was that the other one most likely would not be interested in men at all. No use bothering with trying anything, sir. But this time? Every time he closes his eyes, the young engineer’s face appears, flushed and scared and all adorable. He wants to touch the little stubbles on his chin, wonders how that fluffy brown hair would feel under his fingers.

No use in denying. He is about to fall for that guy. Hard. He doesn’t know what to do with that.

When he reaches the airship facility the next morning, preparations for the tour to India are already in full progress. Trucks have arrived and are parking on the field next to the mast, R101 glistening in the morning sun above them like a giant piece of jewelry. Boxes and crates are carried into the elevator, and once again David has the impression of looking at ants, carrying supplies to their nest. Up on the mast’s platform, he recognizes Captain Hinchcliffe – the ant queen overlooking her workers.

As the elevator arrives on the ground level, he grabs one of the boxes that were piled up at the entrance and slips inside, squeezing together with Mannings, the galley boy, who is overlooking the transportation of the food supplies. The kid looks tired and stifles a few yawns on the slow way up.

“Morning, Pliskin”, the Captain greets him as he leaves the elevator.

“Captain. Looks like you couldn’t convince Thomson to overthink his plans.”

“No chance there. The man is determined to do the trip, no matter the costs. His honorary guests are already arriving downtown, and I received a telegram from Karachi this morning – they’re expecting us in three days, evening gala and all.”

“Goddamnit”, David mutters quietly.

“Goddamnit. By the way, Pliskin, you didn’t happen to see Emmerich, did you?”

“Me? No, not since yesterday. Why?”

“He didn’t show up for work this morning, no word from him. And since you two have been spending so much time together, lately…”

“Have we?” The words come out sharper than intended. In fact, David is starting to worry himself. Hal didn’t come home the day before, neither had his bed been touched this morning.

“No need to get defensive, Pliskin. I’m actually glad that you guys seem to get along so well. I know you and your habit of sticking to yourself, and Emmerich is the same. I was already worried the boy would get homesick or something.”

David nods slowly. “Alright. But, like I said, I haven’t seen him.”

He spends the rest of the morning overlooking the loading process, makes sure the gasbags get refilled properly, checks on the ballast tanks and the fuel. The airship facility at Ismailia, Egypt, sends a telegram that they are ready for R101’s refueling stop and wish the crew a safe journey. Shortly past noon, he notices that the landing bridge does no longer lead upwards from the mast’s platform, but actually downwards. The chords and pipes running from the mast into the tip of her stern are pulled taut.

The Captain enters the bridge. “Everything alright, Pliskin?”

“Not really, sir”, David frowns. “We’re getting too heavy already, and we don’t even have picked up all the supplies, not to mention the passengers. Who did the calculations?”

“Emmerich did. That’s why I trusted the numbers.”

“Still nothing from him?”

“Nothing. I’m starting to get a little worried. Usually, the guy is as reliable as a Swiss watch.”

David just nods. No need to say how worried he feels.

At two p.m., a yell startles David out of the talk he just has with the coxswain, planning out details of the route. “Pliskin!”

“On my way, Captain!”

The Captain stands in the doorway to the landing bridge, waving a piece of paper. Wordlessly, he hands it to David.

**QUITTING MY JOB STOP RETURNING TO GERMANY STOP SAFE JOURNEY STOP EMMERICH**

“It came in a minute ago. Do you have any idea why this is happening?”

“No, Captain.” His legs are turning into jelly.

The Captain checks his watch. “He gave up the telegram at the station. If he really wants to return to Germany, he’ll probably take the afternoon train to London, from there another one to the channel coast. Can you drive a car, Pliskin?”

David nods.

“Then take the damned Hell On Wheels, go to the station and bring me back my goddamn lead engineer! We can’t do this trip without him!”

“Aye, Captain!”

Houses, trees and fields are passing by in an autumn-colored whirl as David speeds up the car as fast as he dares on the bumpy road. His mind is racing even faster; every time he has to slow down or even stop, he curses loudly. What he told the Captain is the truth; he has no idea why Hal is running. It can’t be just because of a picture David wasn’t supposed to see, can it? No way. Hal is an engineer, a rational guy through and through, at least that’s David’s impression of him. Could it be that Hal is just like him – feeling like him, scared of these feelings like him? The possibility makes his head swim, his fingers tingle with electricity. That stupid idiot, he should just have talked to him. But then he remembers the scared look in Hal’s eyes. Like anxiety personified. No, that guy won’t be able to talk about such feelings, at least not on his own account.

The more rational explanation – that Cipher was involved – makes his stomach clench even harder. If they have done anything to him, he’d…

The tires screech as David stops the car right in front of the railway station’s entrance.

The platform is empty. David’s heart begins to sink, he wonders if he’s too late. Then, when he is almost about to leave again, he notices the figure at the far end of the platform; long, awkward legs in too-wide pants, shoulders sunken in, messy brown hair under a hat. Next to him, a single suitcase, not overly big. For a moment, David just stands there and watches him, how he stands there, head down, staring into the railway bed.

The whole figure speaks of loneliness, sadness, even despair. As he shuffles a little closer towards the platform edge, David is afraid he might jump down onto the tracks. But he doesn’t. He just sways back and forth in a slow, soft rhythm. Suddenly, David feels the need to hold and comfort him, and he wonders how Hal might feel in his arms, if he’d let him.

A big machine rattles in the distance, accompanied by a whistle. The train, dammit! He starts running.

“Hal! Hal!”

The figure turns around. Eyes turn into narrow slits, a vertical line appears in between them.

As David comes closer, he can see the stubbles on Hal’s chin, longer than usual. And he can smell the alcohol.

“David?” The frown deepens even more. “What are you doing here?”

“Stopping you from going on board of that train.”

“Well, you’re a little late for that.”

“I’d come earlier if I’d known what you’re planning.”

“That’s why I didn’t want you to know.”

“Fair enough. But… You see, I’d like to know why you’re bailing.”

“I’m not bailing.”

Puffing smoke and whistling, the train arrives at the platform. Hal picks up the suitcase.

“Is that all you’ve got?” David points at the luggage.

“Sure. I don’t need much.”

“Is this your whole life in there?”

“Yes. Now, would you be so kind to get out of my way? I need to catch that train.”

_Shit!_ , David curses. Frontal assault, then. “Hal… Are you running because I saw the picture of you with that guy?”

“Why would I do that? That’s ridiculous. Hey, give me my suitcase back!”

“I won’t.” He holds the item with both hands behind his back. “Not until you tell me the truth.”

“David, stop kidding around! I really need to get onto the train!”

“Then answer my question. If you can say ‘it’s not because of the picture’ while looking me straight into the eye, I’ll let you go. I’d even wave you goodbye. If you can’t do that, we go to that pub on the other side of the road, I’ll buy you a beer or whatever you want, and you tell me what’s going on.”

“Fine!”, Hal hisses.

“So?”

“It’s not because of the pic-“ And that’s it. The angry stare he’d held up breaks, his shoulders slump down, he stumbles and almost falls. Again, just like the day before, David catches him by the shoulders. Unlike the day before, he keeps up body contact, hands firmly on Hal’s shoulders. The younger one keeps his eyes trained down, desperately fighting the tears that have already gathered at the seams of his eyes.

“It’s… it’s not because…” A dry sob shudders through his body.

“It’s alright, Hal. I know. I’ve got you.” David keeps muttering soft reassurances, hands still in place.

The train whistles again, doors are slammed shut, and the huge machine sets into motion, leaving them in a cloud of smoke.

“The pub?”, David asks.

Another shudder, then a little nod. “The pub.”

As Hal sways and stumbles another time on the way out of the station and across the street, David decides he won’t get any more alcohol. Instead, he orders strong black tea for the two of them after navigating the engineer to an empty table in the back.

“Better?”, he asks as Hal lets out a slow, shuddering breath over his teacup.

“Somewhat. I still don’t know whether I’m mad at you for making me miss that train or not.”

“Well, that’s fine. I guess I’d be mad if I was in your place. You still haven’t told me why you wanted to go in the first place.”

“It’s… it’s complicated. And no, it’s not just the picture. Yesterday, after leaving you at the mast, I ran into…” Another shuddering breath. “I ran into Ocelot.”

“Dammit, Hal! Just what I was afraid of! Why didn’t you stay with me? Did he… did he do something to you?”

“No.” He shakes his head, eyes glued to the table. “He… he just made threats.”

“What kind of threats?”

“About… what happened to my father… and in Berlin… He said he would let everybody know, he would ruin me. And you, too. David, he knew about you…”

He shrugged. “Let him know. I’m not scared about some big cat with a revolver, and neither should you be.”

Hal jerks like being beaten. Right, David remembers. _Angsthase_. He feels sorry instantaneously. “Sorry, that was too harsh.”

“You see, I’m no… soldier like you.”

“I know, Hal. That’s why I wanted you to stick to me, to protect you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just… needed to get my head clear. Things are so damn… complicated…”

David narrows his eyes and gives him a slow look. “For starters – why don’t you tell me about that guy in Berlin.”

“That guy in Berlin.” Hal sighs deeply. “I met him at a bar. A special bar, you know.”

“I guess so.”

“We… we were together. Just a few months, it didn’t end well. But… I guess I still miss him.”

“Understandable. Not exactly a reason to run from me, though.”

Hal rubs his eyes, he looks very tired. “I… I was afraid, if you knew about that, that the rest of the crew might find out, too…”

“You thought I’d tell them?”

“No – I mean…” He blushes. “Yes… something like that.”

David nods slowly, choosing his next words very carefully. “I can understand that you’re afraid of being exposed. I’ve witnessed first hand how ugly that can become. But… maybe that’s naïve of me to think, but somehow I thought we had established some trust.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you!”, Hal answers vehemently. “I – I don’t trust myself!”

“How’s that?” David frowns at him across his teacup.

“I have – feelings for you!”, Hal presses out.

David puts the teacup down and looks him in the eye. His fingertips have started tingling again, his stomach constricts. “And that’s why you’re running, letting that Ocelot guy win?”

Hal nods violently.

“What if… Let’s just assume for a second I might have feelings for you, too.”

“That’s the worst thing that could happen!”

“Why is that?” His heart is throbbing so loud he thinks Hal might hear it over the sounds of the pub. But Hal’s posture is sinking in so much it looks like he is shrinking right into his seat, red blotches have appeared on his cheeks.

“I’m… I’m no good to others. Relationships with me, they always end badly.” His eyes are watering up, a tear drops from his long lashes right into the cup he is spinning around in his hands.

“Hal… Hal, look at me.”

No reaction.

“Hey.” The soft, but firm tone in David’s voice finally makes him look. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth!” David can see him fighting for control. “Do you… Do you remember what I told you about my father?”

He frowns. “You said he committed suicide.”

“Yes.” Another violent nod. “It was because of me. Of what I did… with my stepmother.” He silences, face deeply red, eyes clenched shut. “I mean… technically, she was the one who seduced me, but… I could have said no. I should have.” Another tear escapes his still closed eyes and rolls down his cheek.

David takes his time to process what he just heard. He feels the urge to comfort the engineer, to hold him close. He reaches for the young man’s hand across the table; Hal’s eyes open at the sudden contact, but he lets it happen. “Tell me, Hal”, David asks softly, “How old were you when that happened?”

“Old enough.”

“How old exactly?”

“Seven- seventeen.”

“You know that means you were underage?”

“Yes, I know. I still should have said no.”

“Could you?”

“Sure, it’s a simple word, no.”

“What do you think would have happened if you did?”

“I… don’t know. I think she would have reacted badly. Maybe even tell my father lies about me.”

“You see? You were depending on her, at least in some ways, and she knew that. She exploited the situation, you see?”

“Yes, maybe.” He falls silent.

“Hal?” He presses his hand. “You know, there’s a term for what she did with you. I think you know it.” Their eyes meet. “It’s child abuse.”

“I was no child.”

“You were in the eyes of the law.”

“Maybe.” Hal breaks the eye contact.

“Hal, I’m not one of these psycho guys, and I don’t know shit about what this stuff might have done to your brain. But, what I do know – we all have our history, we all carry some sort of emotional baggage. I’ve been teaching recruits, remember? I’ve heard a few stories about shitty parents in my time, not to mention the stuff I’ve been through myself.”

“The war.”

“Yeah. War changes people, it sure does. However, I don’t think you’re as bad for others as you might think. At least I’d like to decide for myself whether I like your influence or not.”

Hal looks up again. “You really think that way, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought… I thought you might be grossed out.”

“Grossed out?” David huffs. “If anything, I’m feeling like an idiot for not realizing in how much pain you were.”

“Well, you weren’t supposed to.”

“Oh, come on, cut that suffering-in-silence routine on me. I know it, hell, I might have invented it back in the days. What am I supposed to do with you now, Hal Emmerich?”

“I have no damn clue.” He hides his face behind the teacup.

“I guess, for starters I’m going to bring you back to Cardington. Captain won’t accept you quitting, you know. Said he can’t go to India without you. And, to be honest, I don’t think any of us can. If someone can keep this ship in the air, especially with those Cipher guys around, it’s you.”

“No need to sweet-talk me.” A half-smile tugs at the right corner of his mouth, followed by a deep sigh. “Alright. I’m coming with you. Is there… anything else we need to talk about before we leave?”

“Nah.” David goes up and grabs his coat. “We have time. No need to haste anything. And, Hal? I’m looking out for you. Nobody will harm you. I promise.”


	6. VI: We'll Be On Our Way Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R101 sets off for India, despite of the bad weather report

The faucet squeaked before letting out a stream of cold water into the marble sink. David washed his face, grateful for the cold. His eyes burned, not only because of the ever-thickening veil of cigar smoke inside the room he just escaped. Reliving those October days was… well, not pleasant, for sure. He had always considered himself being a tough guy, others had called him that, too. It was not like he couldn’t handle this. But if he were to choose…

He dried his face and hands, briefly thinking about smashing the crystal glass mirror above the sink into pieces. He imagined the sound would be pretty satisfying; a little unnecessary violence was always satisfying to him. He decided against it, though, and left the restroom, not without slamming the door a little bit too hard.

The Lords were already back in their places, immediately stopping their conversations as David entered the room.

“Well, Mr. Pliskin, are you ready to go on?” Sir Everett gave him a little encouraging smile.

“Ready, Sir. I’d like to get this over with.”

“As we all do, Mr. Pliskin, as we all do.”

“October the 4th”, Lord Amulree chimed in. “The departure.”

“Yeah. The departure.” David shifted in his seat and took a sip from the fresh glass of water in front of him. “The entire crew had been up for more than 30 hours already, busy with loading the ship, carrying supplies from one end of the ship to the other for better balance, then unloading everything the Captain declared expendable again.”

“Even some of the table ware, as far as I remember.”

“That’s right. Cutlery, additional food supplies, furniture from empty cabins – everything.”

“And you still deemed her too heavy?”

David nodded slowly. “Yes. But we estimated we’d be able to make it, just about.”

“Ah, Dr. Emmerich. How’s the gas refill coming?” Captain Hinchcliffe looks up from the maps as the engineer enters the map room and slumps into a chair.

“Done, Captain. I’ve also sent a telegram to Ismailia, told them to prepare for some gas refill, too. I’ve gone over the numbers again.”

“And?”

“They look okay. Not good, but okay. But we’ll have to shed a lot of water ballast when we set off.”

“Should be no problem.” He checks his watch. “Alright, gentlemen. One hour until departure. Get your stuff together.”

“Sir?” The coxswain, a short, red-haired man in his forties, enters the room.

“What’s it, MacIntyre?”

“Sir, the latest weather forecast. Doesn’t look good. There’s a storm ahead.”

The Captain frowns. “How bad?”

“Bad enough, sir.” He speaks with a heavy Scottish accent. “It’s already starting to rain. Just a little drizzle so far, but over the channel it’s already raining heavily, wind speeds up to 48 knots.”

“Alright, MacIntyre. Keep me informed if anything changes.”

“Aye.” The Scotsman turns around.

“What do you think, gentlemen?”, the Captain asks.

David, who has stayed quiet until now, wags his head. “It’s a risk. And not a small one.”

“Emmerich?”

“I think she can handle it, Captain.”

“However you decide, sir”, David says, “You’ll have to decide now.”

“I know. If we wait for better weather…”

“… we might have to wait until Kingdom come.”

“Exactly. Thomson won’t have that. Alright.” He inhales sharply. “I say we take our chances. Departure will be half past six, as scheduled.”

Cold winds blow raindrops into David’s eyes as he steps out onto the platform. The waiting lounge behind him is empty, all passengers have boarded. Down on the field, a curious crowd has gathered again, the biggest one he has seen so far. Cameras flash every other second, even two film crews are present, conserving the event for the posterity. Tomorrow’s morning papers will have R101 on the title page again for sure. He yawns and crosses the landing bridge, giving the officer in the doorway the sign to retract the bridge and close the hatch.

On the bridge, Captain Hinchcliffe stands at a side window and watches the crowd below. “Pliskin. Ready?”

“Yes, sir. Bridge in, hatch locked.”

He acknowledges that with a short nod. “Irwin, give the signal to release the anchor chords.”

“Aye, sir.” The machine telegraph rings as it relays the Captain’s orders towards the technician inside the mast’s machine room. A few seconds later, the ship rocks softly as the thick chord slips free from the mast’s winch. Above the men’s heads, in the tip of the bow, another winch goes to work and retracts the chord. The machine telegraph rings again to signal that the ship is free now.

“Engines half speed in reverse.”

The cabin floor vibrates as the strong diesel engines, already warmed up and ready to go, are powered up; the mast edges away from the front window as R101 slowly sets into motion.

“Look at them”, the Captain grins with another look towards the field underneath them. “They can’t take their eyes off our lady here. Time to give them a little shower. Shed the ballast.”

David rings another machine telegraph, this one connected to the men operating the ballast pumps from the aft engineering room. Another jolt runs through the ship as it becomes a few tons lighter within seconds; they instantly gain height.

“Alright, gentlemen.” The Captain nods in contentment. “Set course for the Channel coast.”

“… as I said before, gentlemen, it’s a chance of a million to one! This ship is not only the greatest, but also the safest one ever build!”

Polite applauding in the room. David discreetly checks his pocket watch; his eyes threaten to fall shut right here at the dining table. Lord Thomson’s cumbersome, slightly insinuating stories don’t help at all. Luckily, the Lord has drawn the entire room’s attention onto himself; he is the man who enabled this journey, he makes sure everybody around knows that. Dinner itself is great, beef and vegetables better than anything David has eaten in a long time. While Lord Thomson and Captain Hinchcliffe do their best to answer the gathered dignitaries’ questions about R101, David doesn’t get too much attention. He doesn’t mind at all.

His watch states 8:13 p.m. when he checks it again, the cabin crew just collects the last remaining plates from dinner. “Gentlemen, I propose we relocate to the smoking salon for brandy and cigars”, the Captain says. Most of the men go up to follow his proposal.

“Captain, am I wrong or have we lost speed?” Air Vice-Marshal Sefton Brancker, time-honored airship veteran, stands at one of the windows and stares out into the darkness. Below them, David knows, lies the Channel; the night is starless, no light reflects on the water. The wind and rain have grown stronger, the ship is rolling noticeably.

“Must be the wind, Sefton”, the Captain answers. “Mr. Pliskin, would you be so kind and pay the bridge a visit? Just to make sure everything’s still alright.”

“Aye, sir.” David gladly leaves for the bridge.

Things are not alright. On the bridge, Flight Lieutenant Irwin chokes down a curse when David enters.

“How are we doing?”, David asks casually.

“Well, the good news is, we’re still in the air. The bad news, at this speed we will still be here next year.”

“The wind?”

“Not only. That damn rain is soaking the hull, we have gained weight. And, what’s worse, engine five is down again.”

“Dammit.”

“Indeed, sir. Leach is on duty in the engine car, but I haven’t heard from him yet. His radio isn’t working.”

“I’ll go see myself, then.”

“Thank you, sir.”

David really doesn’t fancy what’s ahead of him. He has done it in worse conditions, but not much worse. And not on a ship of this size.

Opening the hatch towards the engine car, he cracks his knuckles and grabs the handlebars of the ladder below. The storm outside immediately tears at his body, the bars are wet and slippery. Icy raindrops cut into his face; he tightens his grip and starts climbing, rigorously cutting off all thoughts about the black abyss beneath him. Climbing as fast as he dares, it takes him half a minute to reach the engine car. Half an eternity. As he slips inside, dripping with rain water, he almost steps on Harry Leach.

“Careful, sir, I need that hand”, the engineer says, hunkered down in the confined space and scrambling for something at the underside of the machine. "You climbed through that storm outside, sir?"

"Since you didn't answer the radio, I had to."

"I didn't hear... Damn. Must be the weather." 

David nods. “Make sure to check on it once we know what's wrong with this engine. How’s it coming, anyway?”

“Not sure. That valve here doesn’t look good.”

“You need anything?”

“A little more light would be helpful.”

“That can be achieved.” David produces his flashlight. “Where do you need it?”

“Down here, sir.”

As David climbs back into the ship twenty minutes later, the wind has grown even stronger. He can feel the ship picking up speed, too; under his feet, the engine emits a steady, thrumming rhythm, reverberating through the ladder. As he shuts the hatch behind himself, he can’t help a relieved sigh.

“You’ve been out there?”

He turns around. Hal stands there, his eyes wide.

“Yeah. No choice. That damn machine was down again, but I guess you know that already?”

Hal nods. “Yes. I reckon you guys fixed it?”

“Leach did. I just helped a bit.”

“Well, then…” Hal yawns. “I hope that’s it for today. I’m feeling like I didn’t sleep in a week.”

David chuckles. “Hey, you were the only one who got a few hours of sleep yesterday. How’s that hangover, by the way?”

“I’m fine. I…” He blushes a bit. “I didn’t even drink that much, I’m just not used to it.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” David smirks.

“However… I guess I have to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For… Making me miss that train. Holding me back.” The blush spreads across his face as he adjusts his glasses in the familiar way.

“You’re welcome. That trip is better with you anyway. I won’t like being on a ship full of idiots alone.”

Hal snorts. “I feel like an idiot, too.”

“I don’t think you are.” David lowers his voice. Electricity tingling in his fingertips sends him a warning about the dangerous territory ahead; he ignores it.

“David, I…” He licks his lips.

“It’s alright. You’re scared, I know. Frankly, I am, too.” Despite of his words, he places a hand on Hal’s shoulder. The younger man flinches as if the hand has burned him, but he stays in place. Warmth seeps into his fingers as he gently rubs the shoulder.

“David, if anyone sees us…”

“The passengers are having brandy and cigars in the smoking room, they won’t come out anytime soon. And the free crew is out cold in bed.” His other hand lands on Hal’s other shoulder, slowly drawing the engineer closer. The electrified tingle is no longer just in his hands, he can feel it sizzle between their bodies and in the air around them. His eyes meet Hal’s, he finds himself sinking into the warm hazel.

“Dave, I’m afraid…”

“I know. Don’t be.” Hal’s whole body shivers in his arms as he pulls him into a close embrace. When their lips finally meet, all tension leaves the younger man, David feels him going limp. He holds him tight, adds a soft scratch of teeth against lips to their kiss. Hal’s mouth is soft and sweet, both men’s stubbles scraping against each other. Hal immediately parts his lips as David licks them. Carefully, he takes his time and leaves Hal space to adjust; soon enough, he starts kissing back, softly stroking the back of David’s neck.

“We… really should go somewhere else”, Hal gasps when they finally break the kiss.

“Agreed. And I know where.” Smirking, he produces his general key. “That cabin here is empty”, he points over his shoulder, “and the ones around, too.”

Hal throws nervous looks up and down the corridor while David unlocks the door, but as soon as it is locked again behind them, his hands are back on David. His mouth follows swiftly, they melt into each other as Hal presses himself into David against the door.

As easy as he follows Hal’s lead, David doesn’t feel confident at all. Sure, he has his experiences with women – awkward touching and rubbing each other through clothes in the barn behind Susan Chesters’ parent’s farmhouse, a hooker here and there – but it was never something he felt like exploring much further, nor did he find much satisfaction in it. This here, half a mile above the ground, in a luxurious cabin, is different. Hal is different. The softness of his lips, the tiny little sounds he makes, those are things he’d more expected to find in a woman; but in other places, the right ones, Hal’s body feels surprisingly firm. Stubbles scratch his forehead as he nuzzles into the crook of his neck, as he kisses the warm skin there, adds a little bite.

“Bed. Now.”, Hal orders, grabbing David’s shoulders and shoving him into the desired direction. David lands on his back as Hal pushes him down. He watches as the engineer unbuttons his shirt, taking his time and running his fingers deliberately slow across his own chest. Propped up on his elbows, David can’t take his eyes away. He is so hard in his uniform pants, it’s almost painful; telling from the tent in Hal’s pants, the younger man is on the same page.

As the last button is finally undone and Hal’s shirt lands on the floor, David hisses: “Come down here already!” His uniform shirt joins the one already on the floor; grinning in satisfaction, he watches Hal’s eyes widen on the sight before him.

“Damn, David, I’d figured you’d look great under that shirt, but this… you’re gorgeous!”

“You thought about how I’d look naked?”, he smirks and watches Hal blush in response.

“ _Ja_ , kind of, I guess…”

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasing. Anyway, you don’t look bad, either. Not at all.”

“Well, thanks…”

“Now, will you finally come down here?” As Hal complies, he tugs at him until the engineer straddles his lap, melting into another kiss, slow and pleasurable. “And you taste good, too”, David murmurs when they break it.

“You know… I’d like to know how you taste in another place…” Hal blushes even more.

“You do?” David raises an eyebrow. “In that case… Well, go ahead…” His pulse picks up speed as Hal climbs out of his lap. He has had _French Kisses_ before, by some of those hookers. He liked it, but something had always felt a little strange to it. The image of Hal doing it to him, though… His cock twitches at the mere thought.

Long, slender fingers undo his belt and fly, emanating so much warmth he can feel it through the fabric. When his cock slips free of the confined space of his pants, he can’t help a moan; a second later, he bites down on his lips to stifle another one as Hal’s hand wraps around himself. He feels the rough pads of callouses on the engineer’s fingertips, the friction is amazing. Shuddering, he reaches out, petting Hal’s arms and shoulders as he strokes his length, slow and careful.

“Feels good?”, Hal asks.

“Yeah. Really good.”

“Good.” And with that, he kneels down and runs his tongue across David’s entire length.

“Hal, fff- fuck… Slow there…” A smirk is all he gets as an answer, and the tongue goes back to work. Soon enough, he finds himself almost all the way inside Hal’s mouth, teeth gently scraping, fingers caressing his balls. He knows he won’t last long that way, but Hal knows that, too. Climbing back into David’s lap, he goes in for another kiss, and David answers it, not caring about tasting himself in Hal’s mouth.

Reaching between their bodies, he opens Hal’s pants. He’d expected having another man’s cock in hands would feel weird; but it does not, not at all. As he takes both of them into his fist, Hal moans shamelessly into the skin of his neck. That sound alone does things to him he never thought would be possible. His hand picks up speed, encouraged by Hal’s enthusiastic panting. When they sink into another kiss, it’s just that little bite Hal places on his lower lip that sends him over the edge. His moan is so deep it’s barely audible as he spends himself in between their heated bodies; and just like that, Hal follows him.

“You think we can stay here?”, Hal mumbles a few minutes later, spooned by David on the bed, still catching his breath.

“Yeah. Nobody will look for us in here.” He places a little kiss in the engineer’s mussed hair, not willing to let go of the warm body in his arms. “Sleep tight, Hal. I’ve got you.”


	7. VII: A Million To One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R101's tour to India finds a tragic end.

_“Lieutenant, we’re down! We’re down!”_

_“Drop the ballast, now! Height rudder to maximum!” His fingers dig into the pilot’s seat, knuckles all white, painful._

_“No reaction, sir! Further loss of height!”_

_“Everybody, hold tight! We’re going down hard!” Huddled down on the cabin floor, hands still digging into the seat before him, his stomach drops, down, down –_

“David?” A warm body next to him on the bed. A hand on his shoulder. “David, something’s wrong!”

He snaps awake. “Yeah, I’ve felt it, too. Maybe turbulences, but…”

They are both already out of the bed, scrambling for their clothes on the floor. “Better go and check on it.”

The corridor is empty, lights dim, everything calm. “Turbulences”, David yawns.

Hal nods.

Footfalls on the staircase at the end of the corridor. Both men turn around.

“Morning, gentlemen.” The man coming down the stairs grins at them, fingers casually looped behind his belt, blonde, almost white hair framing the face with the sharp nose. Expensive looking cowboy boots on his feet.

“Ocelot! What the hell…” Hal’s face has turned white.

“Harald Emmerich, what a coincidence.” The Russian accent in his English is subtle, but there. “I thought you’d listened to my warning the other day. You really should have.”

David takes a step towards him. From God knows where, a revolver appears in the still grinning Russian’s hand. “Whoa there, Mr. Pliskin. No need to do anything stupid, I was about to leave anyway.” Casually, revolver trained on David’s head, he walks around them, down the corridor, towards the hatch. As he grips the iron wheel of the opening mechanism and turns it, his face curls into a mocking frown. “Oh, one more thing, gentlemen. If you plan on – let’s say, _lewd_ activities – keep your environment in mind. The cabin next to you wasn’t as empty as you may have thought. Almost made me sick.” One last tug, and the hatch swings open, a surge of cold air blows across the corridor. “See you in hell, _queers_!”

He jumps out. Hal and David run to the hatch and watch him disappear in the dark; a second later, something white flashes up underneath the ship.

“Bastard had a parachute!”, Hal hisses through his teeth, face ghostly white.

David tears himself out of the paralysis first, slams the hatch shut and grabs Hal’s arm. “Come on, to the bridge! The bastard wasn’t here just to harass us, let’s find out what he did!”

As the two men enter the bridge, Flight Lieutenant Irwin sighs in relief. “Dr. Emmerich, I was just about to send after you. The height rudders – they don’t react. Look at that soup outside, I can’t see a damn thing, and I have no idea about our altitude.”

A quick look between Hal and David. Hal rubs his eyes, deep lines on his forehead. “Is Leach around?”, he asks eventually.

“Yes, he is already on his way to the aft engineering room.”

Another quick glance. “Go, see what you can do”, David says. “I’ll handle things from here.”

Hal nods and runs off.

“Power her up, maximum speed, trimming ballast to aft.” Rendering her aft-heavy while at the same time giving full thrust is an attempt to regain height.

“Nothing, sir!”

David curses inwardly. “Disley!”, he calls out of the bridge door towards the adjacent radio room.

“Yes, sir!” The radio operator peeks around the corner, headphones tucked down onto his neck.

“What’s the last airport you had contact with?”

“Le Bourget, sir.”

“Hail them, let them confirm our current course and position. Tell them we might have a problem on board.”

“Aye, sir!”

Meanwhile, the engine’s heavy roar vibrates through the cabin floor as all five machines run at full power. “Still no reaction on the height rudders, trimming ballast without effect." _Because we ditched most of that upon starting_ , David curses silently.

“Keep trying”, he tells the pilot.

Entirely out of breath, Hal comes running back onto the bridge. “Dave, it’s- it’s worse than we thought!” He catches for breath. “The… the hull… there’s a giant hole… It’s raining inside the damn hull! Several gasbags are lying bare!”

“Dammit! Did he do that?” Several heads turn around at the question, but Hal declines.

“No way. It must have been that damn storm. Also, there would be more effective ways to harm the ship. Like cutting the chords for the height rudders.”

“He did that?”

A curt nod. “We’re done.”

“Go, wake up the Captain. Then get back to Leach, see if you can do anything.”

Minutes pass and feel like hours. The Captain appears on the bridge, still fastening the top buttons of his uniform shirt. He listens in silence as David briefs him on the situation, face hard as a rock.

“A Russian spy? I have a hard time believing that”, he says eventually.

“I know it sounds weird, sir. But that’s how it is.”

Disley comes out of the radio room, the airport has confirmed their position, just outside of a small town called Beauvais in Northern France. Meanwhile, the trees underneath them come closer and closer. Flight Lieutenant Irwin grips his controls so hard that his entire hands are white; a steady trickle of sweat runs down from his hairline into the short beard. Every face on the bridge is the same: clenched jaws and narrow eyes, framed in different shades of pale white.

A million to one.

Nobody dares saying it.

Upon a slight upwards movement, subtle but noticeable for the experienced airship men, some of them already sigh in relief; for a few minutes, they are actually gaining height as an upstream of air has taken hold of the ship. Harry Leach comes running.

“Good news for us, Leach?”, the Captain asks hopefully, but the engineer shakes his heads.

“The height rudders are out, no way of f-“

A sudden fall wind presses R101’s nose down, the entire ship drops into an air hole, drops and drops. Pilot Irwin screams out, and like in his dream – was it really just twenty minutes ago? – David’s stomach drops, down, down, down. Irwin screams again as the branches of big firs bang against the bridge windows; glass splinters, an ugly screeching noise comes from the underside of the car where other trees scratch against the fuselage. The whole ship shakes violently, people start screaming. Engineer Leach runs down the hallway, screaming and hollering: “We’re down, lads!”

And down they are. “Everybody, get down!”, David cries, finding himself back in the cabin of his Coast Guard blimp, falling out of the sky under enemy fire. The vivid flashback makes him duck as the ship crashes into the hillside ahead. He scrambles for a hold as the impact tears him from his feet; his fists grab into empty air, and he flies, to the side, out of the shattered cabin window, he falls, falls -

Thorns of wild blackberry vines scratch his head, but they also dampen his fall. Head still down, searching for cover, he can hear his men in the cabin above him scream. _The Germans! No, they are…_

The gunshot thundering over his head is real.

There, another one. Close to the top of the hill, he sees the flash of a muzzle, a thunderclap following a split-second later.

He doesn’t care about the thorns scratching his hands as he frees himself from the entangle of vines and jumps to his feet as fast as he can. Cold wind bites in his eyes, he runs up the hill. When he is halfway up, another shot thunders.

This one is followed by a surge of heat and blinding white light, and then, the deafening roar of igniting gas.

David picks up speed, not caring about the burn in his lungs. He knows, he has to get away from the ship, the heat is already scorching his back. Faster and faster he runs, the figure on the hilltop finally noticing him. He is not at all surprised when the fire behind him illuminates bright blonde, almost white hair.

“Oceloooot!”

The grin on the Russian’s face is bright and satisfied as he swings his trademark revolver around. “You made it out, Pliskin! Only to die here, by my hand.”

David doesn’t comment on that. He throws himself to the ground and rolls towards Ocelot; upon coming up in front of him, he grabs for the gun and yanks it out of his hand, throwing it away as far as possible. Ocelot makes a short, pained noise as his wrist gets tweaked so violently, but he recovers fast. His punch goes for David’s temple, David blocks it and swats the fist away, but he can’t block the Russian’s knee ramming into his groin. He cries out, the pain rendering him blind for a split-second. Reflexively, he brings up his forearms to cover his face, drops down again and rolls away from the position he deems Ocelot in.

When his sight returns, flames reflect on the steel of a knife in Ocelot’s hand, dangerously close to his chest. A sidestep brings him out of reach, he ducks under the knife arm as the Russian attacks again. Producing his own combat knife out of the shaft of his boot and straightening back up are one quick motion. He blocks the next attack with his forearm, the cut he receives there feels more like a stroke. Adrenaline, he knows. It will hurt, eventually. He evades another hit by diving underneath it, and this time he goes in, closes the distance between himself and the Russian. By forcing him into a vice-like embrace and pressing himself up against him, he renders the knife arm useless; his other hand, sure and calm, leads the knife that cuts Ocelot’s carotid artery, then his windpipe. Hot blood gushes all over his arm, his chest, his face. He keeps the other man locked in his grip, listens to the soft gasps and feels the weakening struggle, until, after a few seconds, he grows still.

Only then he dares to catch his own breath, dropping the dead body to the ground. Without looking twice, he turns around. He has to go back to the ship, as close as possible. There is no doubt what happened to the people trapped in there; but some might have made it, he hopes, there might be something he could do.

Stumbling down the hill, sliding and tumbling, there is only one thought on his mind.

Hal.

Fire reflects on something in his way, something of metal. He grabs at it. It is metal, and also ivory and wood.

Ocelot’s revolver. He picks it up, tucks it into his belt at the small of his back. The steel feels cool against his heated skin.

He starts running again, screams Hal’s name. He knows, he can’t go much further, the heat is already way too intense. Flames, higher than the highest trees, are shooting into the night sky, illuminating the scene way too brightly.

Running, stumbling, almost falling, rising again, he searches for survivors, evading the blazing hot pieces of debris falling from the sky. His eyes burn, smoke and ash make them tear up, taking his sight. He coughs and gasps. Upon hearing what seems to be a human voice crying – hard to tell over the raging fire – he turns around. He can’t see a thing through the smoke and tears; he goes on his hands and knees, blindly feels around to find the source of the noise.

Captain Hinchcliffe lies there on his back, his chest and abdomen a mass of both burned and bloody flesh, buried halfway under a piece of hot metal. As David’s searching hands touch him, he cries out in pain.

“Captain?”, David asks, blinking hard. He does not get an answer, the Captain’s eyes roll back into his skull as he finally loses consciousness. For a brief moment, David just sits there next to him; his pained, frustrated scream goes unheard.

“Mr. Pliskin? Mr. Pliskin! Over here!”

He looks up, blinks again. The person weaving at him comes closer, eventually he recognizes Harry Leach, the engineer. “Mr. Pliskin, you made it out!”

“Yeah, you obviously, too.” Sudden weariness turns his body into lead.

“Yes, I got lucky, cut the damn cabin wall with my knife. Good thing they’re basically made of paper…”

David remembers something. “Wasn’t Hal – Dr. Emmerich – with you?”

The engineer nods slowly. “Yes, he’s… over there… But he…”

David is already back on his feet, running into the direction, not waiting until Leach finishes his sentence: “… _he fell out_ …”

The smoke is so thick, David almost trips over Hal’s legs.

“Hal! Hal!” Kneeling next to him, he touches Hal’s face, feels for a pulse on his neck. It is there, faint, way too fast. “Hal, can you hear me?”

Hal’s eyelids flutter and open. “David?” His voice is faint, too, barely audible.

“I’m here, I got you.” Not caring if anyone is watching, he places a kiss on his forehead. He tastes ash and copper. “I’ll get you out of here, you’ll be alright.”

Softly, Hal shakes his head. “Sorry. Fell from… up there…” He looks into the direction of the burning wreck. “Got… some… internal bleedings… I guess…”

David starts feeling his body up and down; part of his training in the army was basic knowledge of field medicine, so he knows what to look for. The result is devastating, not one bone seems to be where it is supposed to be. Rib cage and hips are unstable, the lower abdomen rock hard. Hal is right about the internal bleedings, David sees. Both of his legs have suffered open fractures, the shreds of his pants are soaked in blood. And there, right under his head, blood is pooling and soaking into the moss on the ground. “Sorry, Dave”, Hal whispers again.

“Hal, you can’t… you can’t do that…” His voice cracks.

“Dave, can you… hold me… it’s cold…” Despite of the blazing fire still torching his back, David’s body gets cold, too.

“’course”, he rasps, picks up Hal’s head and places it in his lap, holds his hands.

“See? Told you getting… involved with me… never ends well…”

“Shut the hell up, you idiot!” The hands in his grip shiver. Maybe his own hands are trembling, too.

Hal silences, his eyes fall shut, but David can still see his rib cage move in ragged breaths. When Hal opens his eyes again, David has to lean in to understand what he says. “We shouldn’t… have caught… fire… so fast…”

“Ocelot. He was up there, shot at the gasbags. Looked like explosive rounds.”

“That… fucking bastard! He really… really went that far…”

“Yeah. I got him, though.”

“Good… good…” He coughs, blood drips out of his mouth. David wipes it away with his sleeve. “Dave…”

“Yeah?”

“’m so cold…”

“I know, Hal. I know.”

Another minute of silence. When Hal speaks again, David wonders if he heard him right.

“Dave… I love… you…”

“Mr. Pliskin?” A hand reached across the table, squeezed David's fingers. A hand decorated with a big ruby on the ring finger. “Mr. Pliskin, are you still with us? Do you need a minute?”

His body felt all heavy. He couldn’t move, couldn’t answer.

“He needs fresh air, open the window, will you?”

Cool air streamed into the room and chased away the fog around and within his head. He blinked, found he could move again.

“There you go.” Sir Everett gave him a brief smile and a pat on the shoulder. “That was a rough night, wasn’t it?”

“Tonight, you mean? Or that night in France?” David managed a half-smile.

“Both, I guess. Son, I’m really sorry, but I – somehow, I have a hard time believing that part with the Russian spy.”

David nodded and reached into the bag under his chair. Carefully, as if it could go off on his own, he placed Ocelot’s revolver on the table. “There. It was still loaded with these.” The brass casings clang as he placed the rounds next to the gun.

“Explosives, indeed.” Sir Everett picked one up, watching it curiously through his monocle.

“Russian-made. Look at the stamp at the bottom.”

The agent nodded, worry drawing deep lines into his forehead. “Mr. Pliskin, I think you know this is no proof for anything, circumstantial at best. However – none of it must ever leave this room. The implications of a Russian agent working with an international group of airplane manufacturers, planning on ending the era of the airship by attacking British citizens – this could be the literal spark igniting the powder keg Europe is nowadays. Do you read me?”

It was already past midnight when David left the building. Wind and rain blowing into his face were more than welcome, he felt like a weight had been taken from his shoulders. The Lords were still in the conference room, discussing how to play the story down. He didn’t care; he had been asked to tell the truth to them, and that he did. Sure, Hal would probably turn in his grave if he knew how they would twist his numbers, accuse the design he had been part of as faulty. But Hal Emmerich was gone. The grief still stung like a knife to his heart, so much he could hardly leave his bed at times, stumbling through his days like a ghost.

At least Hal wouldn’t live to see what happened to his baby.

David had seen the pictures in the morning papers a few days after the incident. All that was left from R101 was a blackened skeleton, like the bones of a giant stranded whale. It was heartbreaking. Including himself, only six people made it out alive.

What felt even worse, he learned that Cipher Aviation, Inc., had succeeded with their scheme. R101’s wreckage was still smoldering when King George himself announced the end of the civil use of airships in the United Kingdom. R100, currently on overhaul, preparing to take up a regular schedule of oversea flights, was decommissioned instantaneously, as well as all other civil airships.

The airship dream was dead.

The only, very small comfort was that at least parts of R101 were supposed to be flying again. Papers wrote that the German Zeppelin works had bought most of the scrap metal from her skeleton. Apparently not too worried about the horrible incident, they were planning on their own next-generation airship, even bigger, even faster, even more luxurious. Rumors were that ship would be called ‘Hindenburg’. David did not really care.

His hotel room was warm and inviting. With a deep sigh, he dropped down on the bed. On the nightstand, in his sight, sat his ticket for the next day.

Back to America.

To make Cipher pay.


End file.
